


Ripples

by Recluse



Category: Free!
Genre: Gen, M/M, apparently I like to hurt myself this way, deathfic!, older!AU, slightly older anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:32:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recluse/pseuds/Recluse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Routine has always been easy for him to fall into. This really isn't different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripples

His passport is littered with stamps, places he'd swam, places he'd nearly gotten arrested in for 'public indecency'.

He doesn't like to stop at home, but there's a special occasion, one that he can't miss, and so he takes a deep breath of sea air.

He had missed swimming in the ocean.

//

The Tachibana's aren't home, or if they are, they're ignoring the door, for whatever reason. Haruka assumes they're out, eating dinner probably, he climbs the steps to his own home instead, preparing for the dust and the dirt.

It's surprisingly clean.

There are tell-tale signs of Ran and Ren though, from the sightly open backdoor

(He misses he who walked through that door,)

to the icepop wrapper in the trash. But other than that, the house is clean and empty, and he sinks down onto his old couch and stares at the ceiling.

("Haru-chan, you can't sit there with your swimsuit on! The couch is getting dirty!"

"It's old anyways."

"Still!"

"Don't worry about it."

A fond sigh.)

Soon enough he gets bored, drifting towards the bath. He turns on the water and relaxes. He won't admit it to anyone, but he had missed this bath.

Or at least, he thought he missed it, until he gets out on his own, hands gripping the edge to push himself up and out, no warm hand outstretched to him.

(Warm hands were his one good trait.)

The house is a little suffocating he thinks, looking down the hallway, hearing the drip of a sort of broken and unused faucet. He really ought to get that fixed, but, the reminder that water is there is comforting.

("Haru, you should get that fixed. It's probably costing your parents."

"I'm paying for it, now."

"Ah, I see. Swimming competitively really works well for you."

"I guess."

"I miss you when you go though. Ahaha, I guess I shouldn't say that. It's a strange thing to say, isn't it?"

"...No, not really.")

He gets his jacket and dresses for the occasion.

//

It's fairly late by the time he makes his way there, the lights are almost eerie. He doesn't mind the dark though, that reminds him of being underwater.

(Underwater is beautiful still. Even though it suffocates, it reminds him of a different suffocation, a warm embrace.)

Hands in his coat pockets, he makes his way down the cobblestone, shoes tapping against the rocks, passing tomb after tomb. Flowers are placed at some, and as expected, the Tachibana memorial stone is covered in them, carefully tended to, especially at this time of the year.

("Those are nice. They match well with you, Haru-chan, the same blue color as your eyes."

"You make me sound like a girl."

"Sorry, ha...But they really do match with you."

His hand brushed through his hair that time, accident or on purpose, Haruka didn't know. He wonders, sometimes.)

He kneels down, starts to pray, burns a few sticks of incense as formality. Then he leans comfortably against the stone's side and talks.

"I went to America again recently. My english is still bad." He starts, softly, "I couldn't figure out how to use anything. Their baths are similar, at least."

("Haru-chan," He laughs, "Haru-chan, even I know you can't say that."

"She didn't have to punch me."

"She might have."

His hand was gentle then, the pad of his thumb running across Haruka's cheek, he'd leaned into the touch without meaning to, had, despite the sting, wanted it.

The little hitch in Makoto's breath should have pushed him forward. Should have made him realize.

It didn't.)

"The pools there are different, sort of." He closes his eyes, a small smile, still leaning on the rock. "Something about them is strange. Maybe I'm imagining it."

There are a few minutes of silence, or maybe more than a few, time isn't important here. He focuses on the burning stick, that tells his time to stay, that's his hourglass, for now.

(If he wanted to, he could relive that moment over and over, when the candle they'd had going had melted entirely, and they were stuck in the dark. Power outtages, Makoto still clinging on him, even at twenty-two.

"H-H-Haru, your house isn't haunted, right?"

"..."

"Haru-chan!"

"You've been here before," He'd muttered, "You should know."

"Still!"

At that time, he could have turned, the nape of Makoto's neck was so easy to reach, and maybe that's why he didn't. He'd settled for gripping his hand, telling him, "It's just the dark, aren't you too old to be afraid?")

"Nagisa is dating around." He murmurs, thinking of the letters, emails. "Rei is stubborn, he won't say it. Rin swims more than I do, at competitions. Gou has a boyfriend, I think. She won't tell anyone who it is."

None of it really matters, but he doesn't know what to say anymore. He just wants the time he has left, the half stick left, to last him. He was never very good at this, speaking. He just says whatever comes to mind.

(He should have said something, so many times, but it's a little late now.)

"...I miss you."

It's a whisper, swept up by the wind, but he says it anyways.

("I miss you, Haru."

"I'm still in Japan."

"But not here," Makoto had said, sighed, and Haruka wished he was maybe just a little bit closer to home, suddenly.)

He gets up, dusting off his pants, rearranging his jacket.

"Happy birthday."

(A quick, drunk kiss, that was his luck, but it was luck enough. Neither of them were really that drunk anyways.)  
  
//

Someone at the airport recognizes him, and he spends a few minutes doing what his manager calls 'blending with the population', which means he has to sign autographs and do tedious, annoying tasks.

Soon, he'll leave Japan again, and wait until another year.

Yesterday, Makoto turned twenty-six.


End file.
